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Just Flarpin' Around

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Just Flarpin' Around

A while ago, back when summer was just tryin’ out its legs and falling down repeatedly, a friend and co-conspirator in funniness bequeathed upon me an absolute treasure. It’s called “Flarp!” and it’s the sillienst putty I’ve ever encountered.

It requires no batteries, cables, manuals, programming, permits, permission or brains! Imagination is helpful but not necessary, although timing can be an issue. What it’s capable of went way beyond my scope of expectation. Okay, I’ll give you a hint... it makes sounds very much like a cow 47 hours after eating peanut butter and plum sauce, or maybe tempe. Talk about making a short line out of a long wait just about anywhere you have to go! This is the magic wand for those of you who detest standing in lines. It’s even easily concealed unless yer in the shower but then, hey, what would be the point?

One ‘down side’ I have noticed in this, I now have to wear a disguise to go anywhere I need stuff. If I ever lose my Darth Vader outfit, I’ll have to start shopping in Coeur d’Alene, where the lines are even bigger and therefore tempermental and prone to retributive behavior.

The first time I tried flarpin’ was purely by accident! It happened to be in my winter coat pocket where I’d put it when I was bequeathed it (my high school English teacher probably just had a stroke!), which I was wearing due to it being late May an’ all. Well, I needed a new pond filter and more hose, so naturally I went out to that big orange store in Pond-eray where you may need binoculars to find what you’re seekin’. You may also need a good book to read while you stand behind some nut with a complete house package on a couple of carts in front of you at the checkout counter.

Which is what I was doing, ‘cept my book wasn’t all that good so my right hand got bored and opened up what it found in my pocket and dove in like a drunken sailor. The air pocket waiting patiently to exhale from captivity sounded quite a bit like a drunken walrus. This raised more eyebrows than Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl!

The guy in front of me, who seemed to have everything in his carts but de-icer, suddenly and with breath held tightly went off to find some; cheeks bulging as though he was under water.

This alone saved me twenty minutes to an hour depending on whether he picked paper or plastic.
On a roll, I went across the street to that other big parkin’ lot to pick up some pool filters for my bright blue, 14’ combination dunk tank/bug trap and detritus collect-all. Feelin’ cocky, I pulled in at the rear of the longest line available, which was big enough to have its own gravity. So I proceeded to disregard section forty-two, article 15 of the “Clean Air Act.” Maybe. The language is a little ambiguous.
Nothing happened! No reply, not even an echo. I can’t explain why. Only half the hominids in front of me had ear buds, phone jacks or helmets interfering with their audo ports. Perhaps I’ll have to give it further attention, maybe like the morning after Thanksgiving dinner.

I decided to keep it handy anyway, which soon proved providential over at the vet clinic where I’ve gotten accustomed to taking naps while getting prescriptions filled for our chemically dependent Canis-Australis-Irrediculous. In front of me was a sweet little ol’ gal with an ancient Pomeranian on visible life support, trying patiently to explain why her joy and reason for goin’ on should get a colostomy to help it survive a might longer. After all, it figured heavily in her will.

That’s when two of my fingers went flarpin’ to distract my lips from blurtin’ out something inappropriate on such an occasion. And by gosh, it worked again! She cranked up the oxygen on herself and her companion and hastily retreated outdoors to have a cigarette, mutterin’ something about fresh air. Now I have to get Sophie’s Rx by mail order. It was worth it though. My apologies to the good staff at POVC and I s’pose that poor little Shih-Tsu sitting next to me starin’ at my pocket, who thought for sure there was some exotic animal about to get loose and grab the nearest bite to eat. The autopsy showed that his sphincter actually fused shut and he passed on a week later, bug-eyed and anal retentive.

Like I said, there are some down sides to this flarpin’ thing and I haven’t had time to research them all. I’ll post an update on our website if I come across anything startlin’ though. I sure wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt on my account.

I don’t often need to stand in line at home so I decided to do some quick research on one of my neighbors to see how he might react to this wondrous new invention and time saving appliance.
I snuck up on Pat via the blind side of his shop and inched my way under his eave until I was right behind him sitting at his computer tryin’ to figure out his new phone bill or having an aneurism, maybe both. With one eyeball hangin’ ten around the edge of his window trim, I studied his mood, looking to improve on my timing somewhat. Why, I don’t know.

I opened up my Flarp canister, pulled out the green putty, charging the system with fresh air (this is sooo easy!) and waited for the right moment. Then I got to thinkin’: he’s ex-army and I’ve heard they can be unpredictable in a weird situation which is what I was fixing to spring on him. No tellin’ what he might think of me in the heat of... well, flarpin’. Then I saw him do a double take at the ‘puter and when his shoulders bunched up around his ear lobes, I figured it was now or not at all. With my two most talented fingers I quickly went through a repertoire of herky-herky hand actions that were as much for my own training as anything; me being a good student and all. I was testing a theory that was making itself more obvious each time I flarped. That being, people are simply too close to the edge these days!

Pat had a stranglehold on a fresh beer but his computer had one on his mind and that’s when I produced the audio probability of a medium-size gorilla with a big mouthful of marshmallows straddling an electric fence set on ‘stun and run’ (my best effort to date).

After we cleaned all the beer off the walls, ceiling, electronics, tools, knick-knacks and memorabilia he said, “You know, you vegetarians all sound the same?”


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Scott Clawson Scott Clawson No, he's not the electrician, he's the OTHER Scott Clawson, who's a quality builder when he's not busy busting a gut while writing his humor column for the first issue of each month, or drawing his Acres n' Pains cartoons.

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